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kiss him with love!(tongue?)

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There's so many ways one can be kissed, Amy finds, not too long into her marriage and it's, by far, quickly becoming one of her favorite activities.

A hasty wedding was not something she saw herself wanting or doing, but everytime he kissed her, when their actions skirted close to improper, he claimed they had to stop, and the little something Laurie ignited within her burned brighter and higher. Even if she didn't know what that flame meant yet.

She did spent half her life wanting to kiss him, wondering what it would be like to love him and be loved by him, and she was not disappointed in the least. His warm hands cradle her face as his lips slide across hers sloppily and slowly, without a care in the world like he has a whole lifetime to do so, and perhaps he does. His tongue explores her mouth in a way she knew Fred didn't even consider, with her hair fisted in his hand pushing and pulling until she looks like her younger self after wrestling with Jo.

Her favorite kisses are shared between them nude in bed, writhing against one another with fingers twisting in bedsheets, hot and breathy kisses, kisses between ragged breath, kisses with hips rocking together in tandem, with trembling lips as they make love.

Then, there are kisses to silence her up as he works his fingers between her legs at Orchard house's washroom, hurried kisses in carriage rides, in hotel bedrooms in Paris, in a small room in a ship back home, with hands curled tight in her derriere and breasts, kisses between gasps and moans and whimpers, kisses that turn into desperate grabbing and grinding.

Sloppy kisses interrupted by him whispering in italian, kisses interrupted by the whisper of his name. Soft kisses after bruising, rough kisses, just a bare of press of lips to soothe the hurt of his teeth digging in her bottom lip, the tenderness of his actions never fail to make her heart race.

Kisses in the split between her legs but they really don't count as kissing do they? He does much more than just kissing, kisses on midday tumbles on illicit sofas because, as Laurie says, the risk of getting caught adds piquancy to the occasion.

A butterfly kiss at the scar of her ankle and then a kiss between laughter when she explains to him how she obtained it(which was making a mold of her foot for, well, him)

Kisses on her palms and fingers, cheeks and forehead, on the underside of her wrists, in the delicate skin behind her ear, tender kisses against the tendons of her neck. Amy feels like she could draw and paint his lips with her eyes closed.

Kisses trapped against a wall and his chest, kisses that cause bruises in her shoulders and back, lingering kisses and hesitant kisses, kisses in the morning with terrible breath, in the morning before work and late afternoon after work. Promising kisses after whispered conspiratorial 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘴, unexpected kisses that make her giggle against him.

Delicate kisses as if she's the finest wine he's ever tasted and he does says that's in her kisses where he found his true home, that kisses used to be meaningless things until 𝘴𝘩𝘦 showed him they could mean so much more.

In those kisses was the sweetness of his passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a single moment.